Windhaven - Страница 11

She was alone with her wings and the sky, and, briefly, there was peace.

Hours later, the first lights of Laus burned at her through the dark; flaming beacons set atop the rocky island’s Old Fortress. Maris angled toward them, and soon the half-ruined bulk of the ancient castle sat before her, dead but for its lights.

She flew straight over it, across the breadth of the small mountainous island, to the landing strip on the sandy southwest spur. Laus was not populous enough to maintain a flyers’ lodge, and for once Maris was thankful of that. There would be no lodge men to greet her or ask her questions. She landed alone and unnoticed in a shower of dry sand, and struggled out of her wings.

At the end of the landing strip, up against the base of the flyers’ cliff, Dorrel’s simple cabin was dark and empty. When he did not answer her knock, Maris opened the unlatched door and entered, calling his name. But the house was silent. She felt a rush of disappointment that quickly changed to nervousness. Where was he? How long would he be gone ? What if Corm figured out where she had come and trapped her here, before Dorrel’s return?

She set a rush against the banked and dimly glowing coals in the hearth and lit a sand-candle. Then she looked around the small, neat cabin, seeking some clue as to where and how long Dorrel had been gone.

There: tidy Dorrel had left some crumbs of fish cake on his otherwise clean table. She glanced toward a far corner and, yes, the house was truly empty, Anitra gone from her perch. So that was it; Dorrel was out hunting with his nighthawk.

Hoping they had not gone far, Maris took to the air again in search. She found him resting on a rock in the treacherous shallows of far western Laus, his wings strapped on but folded, Anitra perched on his wrist, enjoying a piece of the fish she had just caught. Dorrel was talking to the bird and did not see Maris until she swept above him, her wings eclipsing the stars.

Then he stared at her while she circled and dipped dangerously low, and for a moment there was no recognition at all on his blank face.

“Dorrel,” she shouted, tension sharpening her voice.

“Maris?” Incredulity broke across his face.

She turned and caught an updraft. “Come onto shore. I have to talk to you.”

Dorrel, nodding, stood suddenly and shook the night-hawk free. The bird surrendered her fish reluctantly and climbed into the sky on pale white wings, circling effortlessly and waiting for her master. Maris swung around in the direction she had come.

This time, when she came down in the landing strip, her descent was sudden and clumsy, and she scraped her knees badly. Maris was confused, in turmoil; the tension of the theft, the strain of the long flight after that stretch of days without the sky, the strange mixture of pain and fear and joy the sight of Dorrel had suddenly, unexpectedly given her—it all overwhelmed her, shook her, and she didn’t know what to do. Before Dorrel could join her she set to work unstrapping her wings, forcing her mind through the motions with her hands. She wouldn’t think yet, she wouldn’t let herself think. Blood from her knees trickled maddeningly down her legs.

Dorrel landed beside her, neatly and smoothly. He was shaken by her sudden appearance, but he didn’t let his emotions interfere with his flying. It was more than a matter of pride with him: it was almost bred into him, as much an inheritance as his wings were. Anitra found his shoulder as he unstrapped.

He moved toward her and put his arms out. The nighthawk made a bad-tempered noise, but he would still have embraced Maris, regardless of the bird, had she not suddenly thrust her wings into his outstretched hands.

“Here,” Maris said. “I’m turning myself in. I stole these wings from Corm, and I’m giving them and myself over to you. I’ve come to ask you to call a Council for me, because you’re a flyer and I’m not, and only a flyer can call one.”

Dorrel stared at her, confused as someone awakened suddenly from a heavy sleep. Maris felt impatient with him, and overwhelmingly tired. “Oh, I’ll explain,” she said. “Let’s go up to your place, where I can rest.”

It was a long walk, but they went most of it in silence and without touching. Only once he said, “Maris—did you really steal—”

She cut him off. “Yes, I said.” Then she suddenly sighed and moved as if to touch him, but stopped herself. “Forgive me, Dorrel, I didn’t mean… I’m exhausted, and I suppose I’m frightened. I never thought I’d be seeing you again under such circumstances.” Then she fell quiet again and he did not press her, and only Anitra broke the night with her grumbles and mutters at having her fishing ended so soon.

Once home, Maris sank into the one large chair, trying to force herself to relax, to make the tensions drain. She watched Dorrel and felt herself grow calmer as he went through his familiar rituals. He put Anitra on her perch and drew the curtains that hung around her (other folks might hood their birds to keep them quiet, but he disapproved of that), built up a fire, and hung a kettle to boil.

“Tea?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll put kerri blossoms in, instead of honey,” he said. “That should relax you.”

She felt a sudden flooding of warmth for him. “Thanks.”

“Do you want to get out of those clothes? You can slip on my robe.”

She shook her head—it would be too much effort to move now—and then she saw that he was gazing at her legs, bare below the short kilt she wore, and frowning with concern.

“You’ve hurt yourself.” He poured warm water from the kettle into a dish, took a rag and some salve and knelt before her. The damp cloth cleaning away the dried blood was gentle as a soft tongue. “Ah, it’s not as bad as it looked,” he murmured as he worked. “Just your knees—just shallow scrapes. A clumsy landing, dear.”

His nearness and his soft touch stirred her, and all tension, fear, and weariness were suddenly gone. One of his hands moved to her thigh and lingered there.

“Dorr,” she said softly, almost too transfixed by the moment to speak, and he raised his head and their eyes met, and finally she had come back to him.

“It will work,” Dorrel said. “They’ll have to see. They can’t deny you.” They were sitting at breakfast. While Dorrel made eggs and tea, Maris had explained her plan in detail.

Now she smiled and spooned out more of the soft egg. She felt happy and full of hope. “Who’ll go first to call Council?”

“Garth, I thought,” Dorrel said eagerly. “I’ll catch him at home and we’ll divide up the nearby islands and branch out. Others will want to help—I just wish you could come, too,” he said, and his eyes grew wistful. “It would be nice, flying together again.”

“We’ll have lots of that, Dorr. If—”

“Yes, yes, we’ll have lots of time to fly together, but—it would be nice this morning, especially. It would be nice.”

“Yes. It’d be nice.” She went on smiling and finally he had to smile too. He was just reaching across the table to take her hand, or touch her face, when a sudden knock at the door, loud and authoritative, made them freeze.

Dorrel rose to answer it. Maris in her chair was in full view of the doorway, but there was no point in trying to hide, and there was no second door.

Helmer stood outside, folded wings strapped to his back. He looked straight at Dorrel, but not past him into the cabin at Maris. “Corm has invoked the flyer’s right to call a Council,” he said, his voice flat and strained and overly formal. “To concern the once-flyer Maris of Lesser Amberly who stole the wings of another. Your presence is requested.”

“What?” Maris stood quickly. “Helmer—Corm has called a Council? Why?”

Dorrel tossed a glance over his shoulder at her, then looked at Helmer, who was plainly if uncomfortably ignoring Maris.

“Why, Helmer?” he asked, more quietly than Maris had.

“I’ve told you. And I don’t have time to stand here moving the wind with my mouth. I have other flyers to inform, and it’s a thick day for flying.”

“Wait for me,” Dorrel said. “Give me some names, some islands to go to. It will make your task easier.”

The corner of Helmer’s mouth twitched. “I wouldn’t’ve thought you’d want to go on such a mission, for such a reason. I hadn’t intended to ask for your help. But since you offer…”

Helmer gave Dorrel terse instructions while the younger flyer rapidly winged himself. Maris paced, feeling restless, awkward, and confused again. Helmer was obviously determined to ignore her, and to save them both embarrassment Maris did not question him again.

Dorrel kissed her and squeezed her tightly before he left. “Feed Anitra for me, and try not to worry. I’ll be back before it’s been dark too long, I hope.”

When the flyers were gone, the house felt stifling. Outside was not much better, Maris discovered as she stood against the door. Helmer had been right, it was not a good day for flying. It was a day to make one think of still air. She shuddered, fearing for Dorrel. But he was too skilled and too smart to need her worry, she thought, trying to reassure herself. And she would go crazy if she sat inside all day imagining possible dangers for him. It was frustrating enough to have to wait here, denied the sky. She looked up at the cloudy-bright overcast. If, after the Council, she should be made a land-bound forever—

But there was plenty of time for sorrow in the future, so she resolved not to think about it now. She went back inside the house.

Anitra, a nocturnal flyer, was asleep behind her curtain; the cabin was still and very empty. She wished briefly for Dorrel, to ease her thoughts by sharing them, to speculate with her on why Corm had called the Council. Alone, her thoughts went around and around in her head, birds in a trap.